Evil Eyes
by pikachu95
Summary: What would happen if your character in Skyrim actually had a backstory and a personality? Well, here's mine, complete with mods and whatever else I want to put in it. Enjoy.


Welcome to Skyrim, Prisoner

Pain. It was the only thing her mind could conceive when she regained consciousness. The dull ache in her skull was pulsating as she slowly stirred. After that pain, she realized that she was sitting, feeling her stiff spine jolt as the ground beneath her shook. Wait, why was it shaking? She tried to listen, but her ears rang and her mind felt sluggish.

She should be more alert than this! She should have awakened with a start, looking around to make sure the beasts were still far behind her.

'What beasts?' The thought entered her mind so suddenly that she froze in her seat. 'There are no beasts here.' Then she remembered. Yes, she had escaped the clutches of monsters. This was no longer the Hunting Grounds of Hircine. She had finally made it out to freedom. So… Where did she make it to?

Finally able to muster the strength, she lifted her head and winced as she felt her neck twinge from the effort. Why was she so tired? Why did her body refuse to respond to her will? Where the hell is she?

"Hey, you." The voice pierced her thoughts like a knife. She bit back a snarl as she forced her eyes open, staring ahead of her. The man sitting across from her visibly flinched from her gaze. Oh yes, she knew why. She had seen her reflection enough times to know the changes Hircine's realm made to her body. In order to survive, she had to allow the feral energies to transform her into a creature capable of hiding, fighting and beguiling her wild foes. Her pale skin is smooth and oily to entice, her body lithe and toned for battle and her frame small enough to disappear into cave cracks and the shadows of ruins while still tall enough to exude confidence while holding a werewolf's gaze.

But the one change that truly marks her is her eyes. The sclera, typically white, is instead as black as her short unwashed hair, and both her irises are silver. She had watched their transition over the course of years, and while she no longer remembers what they used to look like, she does remember what is normal for a Nord like herself.

She stared into the striking blue eyes of the man and smirked at his reaction, for she was sure to see many others do the same. "Yes?" She said finally, her deep voice rasping from lack of use.

"So… You're finally awake," he continued, trying to avoid her unnerving gaze. "You were trying to cross the border, right?"

"Indeed." She straightened her back as much as she could and looked around, trying to get her bearings. She noticed she was in a cart of sorts, so that explained why the ground was shaking beneath her. They hit another bump and her spine jolted again, causing her to hiss in pain. She could not figure why she hurt so much. Was this the result of her escape to her own realm? Where in Tamriel is she, anyways?

"You walked right into an Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." He gestured with his head to his left, and she turned to see a brown-haired Nord in rags. The man simply glared at the other with indignation.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," he growled under his breath. "Skyrim was fine before you came along! The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half-way to Hammerfell!"

That answered her question, at least, though provided more information than she cared to consider for the time being. She is in Skyrim, homeland of the Nords. She was also probably to be imprisoned for being with this group. Good to know her well of luck still overflows.

"You there," he addressed her, "you and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde spat back, his glare condescending.

"Shut up back there!" the driver barked, not bothering to look behind him. They continued on in silence for a little while before she heard a wheeze beside her.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the Thief inquired, smirking at the man in front of him. Turning to look, the woman saw a man in heavy fur, his mouth covered with cloth and his hands bound tighter than the other two.

"Watch your tongue!" the blonde rebuked, straightening his back and glowering down. "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

It did not take a genius to put two and two together. Turning to her right once more, she sized him up and kept her face calm and unimpressed. This must be the leader of the Stormcloaks, if his name was any indication. But if what the blonde man said is fact, then why is he being carted off like a criminal? Surely this man's ego extended beyond his station?

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm?!" The thief sat back, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You're the leader of the rebellion! If they're captured you…" His eyes widened even further as he put the pieces together. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

Oh, Lady Nocturnal, you are such a cunt. This went beyond just bad luck, this was fucking the pooch. Was there no escape from death, no way to survive without constantly running from wolves both literal and figurative? Who does she have to fuck to get some peace for a day?!

But more importantly, why can't she fight back? What is keeping her from rolling out of this cart right now and running as fast as her legs would allow? Why is she so tired, stiff and sore?

While the blonde tried to have a heart-to-heart with the thief, she tried to remember every detail of her escape. She remembered a series of portals appearing in the realm of Hircine, each one leading to unknown locations all around Tamriel. The beasts that typically chased her were tasked with finding and claiming these portals so that he could send his most powerful servants through them. Each portal closed after a single creature passed through, so she knew that was her escape. She had to find one before he could use it, and once she passed into this plane she would not be followed, no longer being hunted by feral beasts that wished to devour her. She would no longer have to entice them with her body in order to escape, bash their heads with rocks or find rusted weapons to wield until they break.

After hearing the two men have an almost nauseating talk about the thief's village of Rorikstead, the cart rounded a corner and she saw that they were approaching a large stone wall, the path leading them to a gated entrance.

"General Tullius, Sir!" a guard called from above. "The headsman is waiting!"

"Good, let's get this over with," the general replied, taking a right on his horse while the carts went left. While she tried to ignore the thief's relentless prayers to the divines, she eyed the general as they passed him and saw that he was conversing with two other men, though they clearly weren't fellow Nords.

"Look at him," the blonde spat, "General Tullius, the military governor!"

"Who are those with him?" she asked, earning her a curious look from the others.

"Those are the Thalmor. Damn elves, I'll bet they had something to do with this!" Seeing his anger rise, she decided to withhold any other questions. She looked around at the town and saw that it was just a small living space, not large enough to be a proper village.

'I've seen ruins larger than this,' she thought with a huff. If this is what she had to look forward to, Skyrim promised to be incredibly unimpressive. Assuming, of course, that she would survive to see it.

"This is Helgen." The statement caused her to look at the blonde again, this time seeing memories flash through his expressive blue eyes. The sorrow in them made her think of the final look in the eyes of dying prey; resigned to their fate. This man knew he was going to his death.

The blonde man was slowly starting to accept that the road he was on would end soon. As he recalled his past, he looked into the eyes of the woman across from him. Those bright silver irises seemed to hold a surreal calm within them, and the young lady seemed un-phased by her impending demise. Was she not aware of what was happening around her? Did she simply not care? She did not speak much, but the few words she did say showed that she did not know much of Skyrim's plight. A pity he did not have time to tell her of their suffering at the hands of the Empire. She would die with them completely unaware of their crimes.

He could see that the young lady was clever, however. She hid her reactions well, and her face remained eerily blank since she awoke. He wondered often if she was silently mocking them or simply hiding her fear. He told her of a young woman he used to know and how she would serve him mead with juniper berries mixed in. A slight smirk pulled at her lips and her eyes seemed to gleam for a moment. It made him think of a wolf stalking prey, like at any moment she would leap forward and remove his head from his shoulders. Was it just his acceptance that he was about to die, or was she really as dangerous as those eyes suggested?

"Wait," the thief interrupted, craning his neck to look around as the cart slowed to a stop. "Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think? End of the line." The cart finally ceased to move and the driver dropped to the ground, walking to the back of the cart and pulling out a stepper. He then looked at them and made a gesture for them to disembark. "Let's go. We shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"Wait, we're not rebels!" pleaded the thief, and the guard lost his patience and practically pulled him out of the cart so the others could leave.

"Face your death with some courage, thief!"

"You have to tell them, we weren't with you."

"Look into their eyes," the woman said with a smirk. "They do not care that the hunt ended with an overabundance of meat." The thief flinched at her words, his breath quickening at her sickening calm. The blonde, however, simply chuckled as he clumsily followed her to the ground.

"She is right, horse thief," he chimed. "After all, hell-hounds are not known for being choosey." The guard behind him glared murderously at his words but otherwise did nothing as they walked forward. The blonde simply raised his chin and walked next to her, not even glancing to the side. Despite his sentimentality earlier, he would not dare show weakness now. He would stare down his enemies even as his head rolled to the ground.

"Even their beloved general seems to wear a leash," she said quietly, earning a bark of laughter from him. Well, at least she would die mocking her own luck.

"Step forward when we call your name, one at a time!" A woman walked forward to stand in front of them followed by a man. She was fully armored, but the man next to her wore only leather and no helmet, revealing long brown hair that fell to his shoulder-blades.

"Empire loves their damn lists," the blonde scoffed beside her. She glanced to the side, her eyes darkly amused. The Imperial raised his clip-board and began to read aloud.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The Jarl walked forward with purpose, his back straight and his eyes staring forward, not even deeming to turn and acknowledge the sentiment of his blonde follower.

'Arrogant bastard,' she thought to herself.

"Ralof of Riverwood." So, that is the blonde man's name. Ralof: suitably sweet and soft for a man of hidden sentiment, but it did not hold an arrogant edge to match his countenance. Still, that mocking laughter of his heightened her spirits, so she did not regret meeting him.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No!" The man screamed as he was dragged before them. "I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!" He suddenly whipped around and kicked the man behind him in the knee, forcing him to release his grip. Not a second later he was running. Fool. Did he not see the archers positioned around the walls and on the ground? He will not make it, otherwise she would have followed him.

As the thief was shot down, she suddenly realized why they stopped in this place. Barely large enough to hold a population, but well-fortified with tall stone walls and heavy wooden gates. There is no place to hide here and nowhere to run. Even if you managed to take a hostage, there would be someone behind you to stick an arrow in your back. She wondered if Lady Luck would appreciate a stiff one up the ass, because that is exactly what she's getting after this is over.

"You there," said the Imperial, staring straight at her. "Step forward."

He had seen her eyes during her capture, but it was only briefly before she lost consciousness. He was unnerved then, but seeing that thoughtful, calculating gaze was even more disconcerting. She was intelligent, but she was still showing the effects of the sleeping toxin used to subdue her. He wondered how much of a fight she would have put up had they not found her so tired and ill-equipped. She was still wearing the rags they found her in and it didn't look like she had bathed in a very long time. Seeing her proud posture, even stare and still-as-stone countenance made him think of a predator lying in wait. If she had been better rested and fed, would they have lost lives and limbs taking her in?

"Who are you?" He managed to say, forcing his tone to come out even. It sounded convincing in his ears, so he tried to relax his shoulders to match.

"My name is Alyra" she answered. "You?" Her voice was deep, careful… Alluring.

"Hadvar." He answered without even thinking about it. That look in her eyes was consuming him. He looked down at the clipboard again to regain control of his thoughts. "You picked a bad time to return to your homeland," he said, not looking up for a long moment before turning to the woman next to him. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list," the captain snapped, looking at him coldly. "She goes to the block." His heart sank as he looked back at the prisoner- no, Alyra- and watched her silver eyes hide under a mask. What was she thinking? Would she try to escape, like the thief?

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "At least you will die in your homeland." The resulting smirk was the most mocking mask of hatred he had ever seen.

"I came here to avoid such a fate," she said, her voice low and aimed only at him. "Sadly, Lady Luck is a bitch today."

"Follow the captain, prisoner," he said quickly, his heart racing as her tone became more of a hiss. Even the captain was shifting her weight between her feet, and she walked off towards the headsman. Alyra gave the Imperial one last glance- now rather amused- and followed obediently.

So, this was to be her end. She would die with a group of rebels whose cause means nothing to her at the hands of an Empire she does not serve. She wondered, at that moment, if Hircine was laughing his Daedric ass off in his Hunting Grounds.

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><p><strong>The Author Says:<strong>

Felt oddly inspired to write today. That's weird for me. Anyways, I'm restarting Skyrim (again) and decided to actually write out my adventures. Now, I want it known RIGHT NOW that there will be things in here that do not typically happen in Skyrim. For example, my character will actually have a personality, which the game does not really allow for much.

To those of you who love adult stories with fantastic settings, immersive characters and brilliant writing: You will be disappointed. I suck at writing and am only doing this for fun. If you have corrections or critiques, keep them polite and relevant. Harsh words are ignored, insults are reported and indecent comments are laughed at (humorously if meant to be a joke, cruelly if not).

Oh, and I have no idea when I will update. Seriously, I have a hectic, busy life and typically relax by constantly gaming and munching, not writing to entertain people. So enjoy the story. Or don't. Up to you. *Munches on Doritos*


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